


Lighthouse

by Cheeca



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, M/M, Newborn Children, Rape Recovery, Romance, Smutty
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-20
Updated: 2016-02-23
Packaged: 2018-05-22 02:04:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6066514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cheeca/pseuds/Cheeca
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He could feel her hands on him as if she was really beside him, snaking her hands around his sides, up over his shoulders, and down grabbing his arse. Dirty was a constant state he felt, and not in the way of being on a mission in a desert country. John Watson rather take sand in every crack of his body than have to deal with a dirt that never came off of him." Mycroft orders Sherlock home nearly three years after his fake suicide because John is falling into pieces. Sherlock and John become each other’s lighthouses, a beacon showing them home. (Hopefully will be better than it sounds!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. No Way Back

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all! So, this is my first Sherlock fan-fiction. I had this idea when I was thinking about films for my classes (I am a film student). This is the major warning; John is a rape victim in this story, so please keep that in mind when you read this through this. I also would like people to know that how I have John reacting to PTSD is how it is for me. I suffer from PTSD as well, so please keep the comments about how I have written to yourself if you believe I am doing it wrong. Finally, please leave comments with CONSTRUCTIVE criticism. If you are up for being an editor (I suck with comma's and my grammar can suck a lot at times, again - film student going to be a director lol). 
> 
> I hope you all enjoy this fic! I have worked hard on it!

**CHAPTER ONE:** _No way Back_

“You are needed in the emergency room. Three road side bombing’s and two gunshot wounds, we are about to go into code black if anyone else comes in.” Isa Vogel ran past John to a gurney in the hallway. John nodded and dashed down the hallway. He loved this rush. He loved the feeling of running from one gurney to another, the rush he felt when he fixed a wound, mended what other doctors could not, saved lives of people other doctors deemed irrecoverable. John Watson was the Sherlock Holmes of the Army Medical field.

That thought instantly stopped John in his tracks. It was always hard to breath for him when he suddenly thought of Sherlock. It was worse when he did something that nobody else could and wanted to share it with Sherlock. Or when he would turn to say something to the man and he was not there. It was always a sick reminder that he was back in the war because the cases did not exist without Sherlock Holmes. It was also a sick reminder that he was alone and without his best friend. He had seen Mycroft twice before he left. One at the funeral and ones during his deployment. Mycroft came to see him off, even gave him a bullet proof phone and said, “In case… for old time’s sake.” Mycroft would not admit that it felt like another little brother walking away.

“John, get to it!” Isa yelled from down the hallway. John looked around to see the hallway buzzing with life. He moved and did not stop again until the code black came and went. When all the new medical staff was cleaning up John retreated to his room where he sat on is bed and took a ragged breath.

A knock came to his door and Isa popped her head in, “Would you like to grab dinner?” She asked. Shaking his head John declined, “One day you will have to say yes to me, John Watson.” She left John to his bed where he laid down and drifted into a restless sleep.

_“It is my note… Goodbye John.” In front of him his friend jumped off the building._

_John ran forward, “SHERLOCK!”_

_He could hear the crunch._

“SHERLOCK!” John jerked his head up. He looked around groggily and realized he was not in his room anymore. His was tied up as if he was on across giving his life for the world’s sins. He looked around to see a woman in a mask standing in front of him.

She was laughing, “So, were you in love with Sherlock Holmes before he killed himself or did you realize it after he was gone?” She asked in a sarcastic voice John thought he could recognize. However, John did not answer, not out loud. He was in love with Sherlock from the moment he met him, but he regretted never telling the man as he watched him fall off the roof of the hospital. “Come on Watson, tell me.” She walked up to him and touched his bare chest.

He realized he was naked, “What… What are you doing to me? Where am I?” John asked. He could tell he was drugged because his line of vision was narrow, like he might pass out again.

“We are still on base, but nobody will find you here. You will join Sherlock Holmes when I am finished with you. There will be a new story in the headlines. ‘John Watson rapes employee impregnating her before she struggles to free herself and accidentally kills the famous John Watson.’ It is going to be bitter sweet really, we have had sex several times over the last three days.” She pointed between her legs. John could see white stuff sliding down her legs, she was also naked. He turned his head, he felt like vomiting. “I figured one or two more times should make sure I am pregnant, then I will dispose of you. But I wanted to see you squirm as I fucked you for those two times. Are you ready John? No?” She had a needle and walked over to him, “This will make you want it.” She injected something into his groin and instantly he felt its effects. Tears slide down John’s face.

When the woman saw the tears she slapped him across the face. That was when he realized he was sore everywhere. He could feel his face swollen, his left arm was definitely broken, he could tell his rib-cage had many broken bones, and he could barely keep his eyes open which made it hard for him to know if he had a concussion or if it was the drugs she was giving him.

He looked up at her, “Please, do not do this. I have never done anything to you. Please, let me go.” He begged, John Watson begged because there was nobody to save him. Nobody worried about him anymore, nobody cared he was in Afghanistan, and Mycroft only saw him off out of pity. John begged because he felt pathetic and worthless but he wanted his life, he deserved a crappy life after failing Sherlock.

She wagged her finger at him as she lowered the bars holding him down so he was lying on his back on a bed, only one part of him was standing at attention, forcefully. “You will enjoy this, and you will love it. You will be forced to say yes to me.” She said.

Instantly John’s eyes widened, “Isa?” He said, “Isa, please, why are you doing this? Come on, get off me. Please don’t do this!” He looked around in a panic, suddenly becoming very aware of his surroundings.

The room around him was dim, but he could still see. The mattress he was on was rather clear, the whole room was rather clear, but it had a dirty feeling because they were in what looked like an old abandoned bunker. He looked at her as she took her mask off. John had always said she was pretty, but he never thought of her that way. She always flirted with him and he just brushed it off.

He watched her walk over to him, “Just relax John, you will enjoy this either way.” Memories of the last four days washed over his mind. He never felt so disgusted. He wanted to vomit. She shook her head, “Stay awake for me, John.” For the next three hours he would black out, then wake up, then he would black out again. It repeated. His body was finished with any energy it had. He needed water, and when footsteps released him from his confines he curled up in a ball and wouldn’t let anyone touch him. He was sedated and when he woke up, Molly Hooper was standing over him.

“John, you are back in London. Please do not try and walk. Your throat is very rare, you spend a lot of time screaming in your sleep. You need to relax and know I am here if you need me.” John watched her with wide eyes, and he was leaning away from her slightly.

Mycroft came walking quickly into the room, “John, thank god you are a wake. I thought.” He looked stressed, almost sick. He walked up to John’s bed, “You look horrible, we are doing everything we can to fix you up. Please, relax.” At those words he tried to jerk away.

He no longer saw the hospital room around him, he saw Isa Vogel leaning on his chest, moaning his name, _“Just relax, John.”_ Watson jerked out of the bed and vomited on the floor.

Everybody John knew came flooding in to see him. Of course, a part of him wished Sherlock would walk into the room and tell him he faked the whole death thing and he was there to solve his case. It never happened. John found he was less comfortable around woman, though Mrs. Hudson was always going to be an exception to him, and Molly proved to him she would not hurt him. They were the only two women he found he could trust. Though, Molly still could not touch him, unlike Mrs. Hudson who often sat in John’s bed beside him and John would curl up and lay his head on her chest. Mrs. Hudson would quietly sing to him, something he never knew she could do, or she would just hum while petting his hair. Why did he feel safe with Mrs. Hudson? John’s mother died when he was a young boy, his father on the other hand was a military man and was hardly around. Mrs. Hudson was exactly as he wished his mother could have been, and he knew the woman holding him knew it.

It took two weeks for Molly to willingly release John from the hospital. Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade, and Mycroft took John home to Baker Street. They got him into Sherlock’s old room because that was where he asked to go. He curled into the bed of his best friend, and that night after everyone is gone, he cries himself to sleep. John Watson was broken. There was no fixing John Watson, not unless their name was Sherlock Holmes.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock comes home just in the nick of time! A much needed conversation finally happens between John and Sherlock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I just posted the first chapter but I have three done. Comment's welcomed!

Chapter Two: Home Again

Mycroft Holmes was not a man who checked up on people that was not family; that was until he put Sherlock in the middle of Moriarty’s mess. Sherlock had made him promise that John would be taken care of and Mycroft did not break promises, especially to his brother, their mummy would scold him. Sherlock made him promise to take care of John, to make sure John healed and still had a Holmes’s as a friend. Until Mycroft had to go do field work for a Sherlock. When he came back to London he found that John Watson was going out of his reach, back in Afghanistan. Of course, it was not hard for him to find John and put tabs on him once it was decided where Watson would be. He was doing well there, and Mycroft did not bother to bring him back.

It was not until John went missing that Mycroft went on high alert. It only took him four days to find him and it was entirely too late. They got John home and Mycroft found it hard to leave John’s side. They were finally able to get John home and the man asked for time alone and that was what they gave him.

After that John spoke to body, saw nobody, and contacted nobody. John Watson became an empty shell of the man he was. Life was hard for him. Mycroft paid his bills, he still felt guilty. The first month went by, and that turned into two months which turn into four then to six. It was getting bad and the eldest Holmes needed to try something to get John living again.

It was a rainy morning when Mycroft came into John’s apartment and went straight upstairs. He knocked on the door a few times, “John, it is Mycroft, is it okay if I come in?”

There was no answer. He opened the door to find John not in the room. He stepped inside and winkled his nose. There was dishes everywhere, clothes littering the floor, and garbage mixed into the clothing and dishes. Mycroft pulled his phone out and texted bus assistant to get a maid in the moment they could.

Once he returned to the main floor Sherlock and John shared for so many years. The rest of the place did not look as bad a John’s room, but it was not any better, either. Mycroft walked through the kitchen and into his brother’s room. The sight he found made him frown.

“John?” He asked walking into the room further.

John was lying in the middle of Sherlock’s bed, he was wearing Sherlock’s pajamas and reading one of Sherlock’s old books. Mycroft was glad to see John reading as Mrs. Hudson told him most days John had been just sitting in a chair or laying curled up on the couch.

Mycroft walked further into the room and noticed how this room was spotless, John kept this room perfectly spotless. “John, please, talk to me.”

John finally looked up and for a moment looked as if he did not remember who Mycroft was. “Mycroft?” He asked, sitting up in the bed, “What are you doing here?”

The eldest Holmes leaned against the windowsill and frowned, “To check on you.” He replied. The confused look on John’s face made the man continue, “Nobody sees or hears from you anymore. You have been out of work for six months, you don’t do anything, you have gained weight, and that is without you hardly eating anything. You are a ghastly sight. What would Sherlock say if he was here right now?” Mycroft did not realize this would be the wrong thing to say.

John was on his feet. The state of John, now that Mycroft could see him all, was horrid. John had a bushy beard, his hair was long, and his teeth were yellowing, “What would Sherlock do? WHAT WOULD SHERLOCK DO?” John paused for a moment, “HE ISN’T HERE IS HE? He left us, all of us, he left us and he isn’t coming back! He wasn’t here, he didn’t save the people he should have. He did not save me. He left me alone, Mycroft. I, very much, rather you did as well!” John sat back on the bed, his shoulders drooped.

Mycroft did not know what to do. Nobody Sherlock had ever yelled at him, secondly John Watson was not the man he remembered. He didn’t know the man well enough to help him, but he knew someone who could. Mycroft backed out of the room after letting John know there would be cleaners coming within the next ten minutes or so, then left.

Once back in his car he pulled out his cell phone, “You need to come home; I don’t think John will be with us much longer if you do not return.” With that he hung up.

~~~~

When Mycroft left John looked up slowly. In front of him leaning on the wall was his cane. He spend three years with Sherlock believing he did not need the confinements of the cane, however, circumstances changed. John slowly got off the bed, pulling the cane toward him as he did so. He knew he had to clean himself up, not that he wanted to appear healthy for anyone, but it was time.

John no longer saw it in himself to keep going. What did he have? His sister Harry had died a year after meeting Sherlock from a living infection that he body could not fight off. It was only six months after that when John’s parents died in a fatal car accident leaving him the only surviving member of his family. John Watson had nobody left, and he felt alone.

He walked from the room and grabbed the clean clothing from the basket Mrs. Hudson left. Of course, Mrs. Hudson cared for him, but he knew she would move on eventually, she did with Sherlock. He returned to the bathroom which was just before Sherlock’s bedroom door and stepped inside. As he put the clothing down he heard someone call saying they were there with the cleaning company. John poked his head out and they instantly got to work.

White fabric pulled off John’s slightly fatter body and slide from his hand to the floor. John tried to divert his eyes from the mirror but it never worked. Closely his looking into it, first seeing the bottom of his stomach, which was slightly bulged out. He hated that he was gaining weight, but his body barely got the nutrition it needed so it stored all the fat that entered his mouth. His eyes slid further up to a thick red mark that started over his hip bone. He was glad he could not remember how Isa sliced into his body, as if his brain was telling him it would be too much to remember. This was not to say he did not see the video Isa made of the four day torture session, he had wanted to see where he got the cut from. It was completely blank, it as was if John had been watching someone else on the screen. Like a magnet his eyes followed the red line from his hipbone to his shoulder on the opposite side then it started. The mark went right between his pecks making it look as if he had a weird messenger bag over his chest.

Instantly John could hear her voice, “You know you like it, baby. I can hear you moaning.” He leaned over the sink gripping the side of the counter squeezing his eyes shut. “The way you walk around me… I know you wanted this. Why else would you flex your arms, or turn gurneys by kicking the wall. It is so sex, Captain.” He jerked forward losing the little bit of tea he had down the drain.

John wanted nothing more than to get her voice out of her head. It was always like a new attack when flashbacks hit. He found himself pressing his palms into his head as her voice iced down his body making him cold. When the flashbacks happened when he was sleeping, turning into nightmares. He could feel her hands on him as if she was really beside him, snaking her hands around his sides, up over his shoulders, and down grabbing his arse. Dirty was a constant state he felt, and not in the way of being on a mission in a desert country. John Watson rather take sand in every crack of his body than have to deal with a dirt that never came off of him. John wanted to end that feeling, he wanted that gone and there was only one way he would be able to rid it.

He grabbed his clippers and tamed his hair with a good Army buzz cut before he climbed into the shower. He shaved his face, trimmed his body hair, and washed himself thoroughly. He wanted to be very clean when Molly Hooper saw him again.

Once out he changed into his freshly pressed clothing and walked into Sherlock’s room and closed the door. Nobody would be awake early in the morning, it was bed to do it then, that way nobody could stop him. It was the best plan and it was a quick one, as well. This plan got him to Sherlock faster than any other way.

When he woke early in the morning he didn’t move from the bed. He watched the inky midnight blue sky turn to a lighter shade before getting up and grabbing his gun from the bedside table. He walked into the living room and took a look around. The place had no changed since Sherlock lived there, though it had been thoroughly dirty the night before but the staff made it look as if Mrs. Hudson was selling the place.

As he passed the skull on the fireplace he stopped and looked at it, “I guess you and Sherlock are down there having a good laugh. Well, tell him to run because I am coming to joke him out.” He said.

“Why does everyone believe I am going to hell?” A voice said behind John, a voice he had not heard in near three years. He turned around slowly to see Sherlock standing in the doorway. John’s eyes scrapped over him as the taller man walked into the middle of the room, only four feet from John.

“Sh… Sherlock?” He blinked a few times. He stepped back toward the fireplace, his hands were shaking. He looked at the other man up and down, “I am hallucinating.” He nodded. He clicked the safety off the gun, he moved it quickly to under his chin, “I want her voice out of my head!” He half yelled.

Sherlock’s eyes went wide and he dashed the space and jerked the gun out of his hand before he could pull the trigger. In one movement he grabbed it and clicked the safety back into place.

John growled, “NO!” He jumped forward for the gun but Sherlock tossed it into the middle of the kitchen. He maneuvered around John kicking the man’s feet out from under him. John let out a whimper when he was pinned to the ground, “Let me go, please, Isa, let me go!” Instantly tears slide down John’s face, “Please don’t hurt me anymore.” He squirmed against Sherlock but the youngest Holmes knew John was not seeing him.

Sherlock let him go and moved back a bit sitting on his feet, “John, it is okay. She is not here, you are safe. I am really here. Please, look at me. I am here and you are safe!” In chest his heart was doing something he never felt before, it was breaking at the sight of John’s pain.

John crawled away and put his back against his chair, tears were still sliding down his face. Sherlock kept cooing to him, soothingly bringing him out of his attack. John’s vision faltered from what he thought he was seeing to Sherlock leaning back on his feet. He rubbed his eyes, “Sherlock? You’re dead, you cannot be here.” He said pulling his legs up to his chest, he was trying to make himself as small as possible.

Shaking his head Sherlock shifted so he was sitting against his old black leather chair looking at John, “I faked my death, I had too.” He said quietly, he found it hard to look at John’s face, but he made sure not to take his eyes off his best friend.

The other man was rocking and shaking his head, “You are dead, and you’re not here. I felt your pulse, there was no pulse.” He rocked a little harder, “So much blood. Your casket was black, I put a deerstalker on your casket with a rose. I visited your grave all the time. I begged you not to be dead!” John’s voice raised with every word he spoke.

Sherlock reached out and touched John’s arm gently, “I faked my death because… Moriarty said I either killed myself or you, Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade would die. John… I could never picture this earth without you on it. You’re my best friend how could I ever let anything happen to you?” He asked.

The moment Sherlock touched him all memories faded away. The electric feeling from Sherlock’s touch, the one that was always there when they touched before his suicide was there stronger than ever. “You... You faked your death?” He asked quietly. He leaned into Sherlock’s touch and slowly the other man moved closer to John.

He nodded his head as he moved, “I did. I am really sorry John.” He said. He pulled himself beside his best friend and gently pulled him close, John unraveled and wrapped his arms around Sherlock.

"I…" John knew the anger he felt was toward Sherlock, but the happiness he felt that Sherlock was alive outweighed it, “You are really here.” The way he said this reminded Sherlock of a young child.

“Yes, I promise I will never leave you again. I will do anything to make you trust me again.” Sherlock said his vow and John curled tighter into him.

John whispered, “It might take a while… You… you could have contacted me.” He said, “I know you will say you couldn’t but I am sure there would have been away. Especially once I was in Afghanistan, again.”

Sherlock’s body went rigid. He had not known John had gone back, Mycroft never told him. “Why did you go back?” He asked quietly, John still curled into him.

The shorter man shook his head, “I could not bear being here without you. Baker Street, this place, it is hour home and I couldn’t be here without you; it was too hard.” He whispered.

“I am sorry, John.” He said sadly, “I am sorry for leaving you, for not telling you. I am sorry you were hurt again, and I am sorry I was not there to find you first.” Sherlock put his head on his friends.

John moved uncomfortably, Sherlock released allowing John to sit up and look at him, “You need to promise me you will never leave like that again, or any version of that again. I cannot handle it. Sherlock my parents are gone, my sister is gone. I don’t have aunts or uncles, I am completely alone without you.” Tears were streaming down his face breaking Sherlock’s heart.

Sherlock took a deep breath, “I promise that I will never leave you again, in anyway shape or form. I promise that even if you bide me away I will still fight to be in your life. John, you are my best friend and I thought I was protecting you and once I knew the Snipers were off you guys I should have informed you that I was alive but I did not want to take the chance of someone seeing me then killing you. I am sorry, John and I will do anything for you to be alright again.” He gently, and slowly, reached up and touched John’s cheek. This was the most touching they had ever done.

For a moment Sherlock just kept his hand there, John turned his head and kissed it before taking it into his lap and holding onto his hand. “Thank you for promising me. I need to tell you something.” John said, his voice stiff.

Sherlock’s heart started racing, John was going to tell him what happened to him. He was going to tell him who hurt him. Sherlock knew he might not be able to handle it, but something told him John would not react well if he did not. Sherlock took a deep breath, “What is it, John?”

He took a deep breath, “I know you don’t… You won’t….” He stuttered.

Sherlock gently squeezed John’s hand, “It is okay, go on.” He said gently.

With another deep breath John looked at him, “I left this place because… It was always a sign of hope, always… it made me that maybe one day you would return my feelings…” John said looking at Sherlock.

This was not an area Sherlock understood well. Human emotions did not work well for him, usually. “What?” He said.

John let his hand go and moved away from him, “I am, and always have been from the moment you spoke, in love with you.” He explained quietly, so quietly he wasn’t sure if Sherlock would be able to hear him.

Sherlock leaned back and took a deep breath, his heart was racing, his hands started to shake slightly, “You… you are in love with me?” He said looking at John.

The other man nodded, “I am, you don’t have to return he feelings.” He said quietly, he slide back a little further.

Sherlock slowly moved closer, “John… How… how could I have not fallen in love with you? When we were at the restaurant looking for the cabby. I was… When you asked about boyfriends I wanted to say that I was a demi-pansexual, but I… I don’t do emotions very well, it is hard for me. But you have always pulled them out of me. You make me… more human.” Sherlock Holmes was actually stuttering and tripping over his words. This never happened to the man. He was always sure of himself, he always knew what he was talking about. Of course, that was until it came to emotions, Sherlock never did those very well.

The other man in the room was blinking, “What?” He said.

Sherlock moved a bit closer, “I am in love with you, John.”

There was no movement from the other man. John did not move. He did not even flex a muscle as Sherlock moved into his personal bubble. It was nice to know that Sherlock could get close to him without him flinching away, or jumping and having a panic attack over it. John moved closer to Sherlock when Sherlock gently pulled him closer.

“Can… can I kiss you, John?” He asked gently.

This was a hard question for John. What if he had an attack when Sherlock kissed him? He did not want that to happen, “Can we start small.” He asked him, he did not need to explain, Sherlock pulled them both to their feet and pulled John gently against him and hugged the man. John hugged him back, it felt great to be able to touch Sherlock like this, even if it was a small gesture.

Then Sherlock said it, “Someone raped you, John.”

John went tense under Sherlock, but it was from the memories that scraped at the back of his mind, “Yes,” He said relaxing into Sherlock’s embrace.

“John,” Sherlock said, his thoughts already on catching the man who hurt him. “I am not mad at you, if you think my anger that I will show over this is at you, it is not. I am angry at myself for not being there to stop it, to find you. I am angry that some man hurt you.”

John cut him off, “Woman. Her name is Isa Vogel.” He whispered into Sherlock’s shoulder.

His body went ridged again. “I am so sorry, so sorry, John.”

When John pulled back and looked up his heart skipped a beat, Sherlock had tears running down his face, his eyes were tightly closed, and he was taking in deep breaths. John did not have to deduce that Sherlock was trying not to cry. “This is not your fault. She… She wanted something specific from me.” He told him, “I remember her telling me, it was cutting in and out, but I remember her saying what she wanted from me.” John’s through caught.

“What was it?” Sherlock asked but did not open his eyes, “What was it she wanted from you?”

“To bear the child of John Watson, the famous doctor.” He did not say the rest.

“I know you are keeping something from me. Please tell me.” Sherlock opened his eyes and a fresh wave of tears washed down his eyes.

John looked away, “She said, ‘I want your children Johnathan Watson, I want to bear the famous duels child.’ She thought we were… together. I wish she had said it day one so I could tell her you would never be interested in me like that.” John said sadly.

Sherlock shook his head, “Like I said, I have always been interested in you like that, John.” He looked at John, “You are the only person I ever actually pictured myself marrying, having children with, growing old with. I was… I just… I am not good with emotions and didn’t know how to say that to you. To tell you I wanted you for life.” He said this quietly.

“As I have with you and I was too doubtful to say anything to you. But Sherlock… If… If you still want… I want you as mine and me as yours. I want you to be my partner in crime and in love.” It was cheesy, he knew, but it was how John felt.

The moment John said the cheesy line a wide smile crossed his face, “I have always been yours, John, always.” He whispered and kissed his forehead, “From this day forward everyone will know we are partners in crime and love.” He gently, and slowly, kissed John on the forehead.

The forehead kiss came as a surprise to John, even with Sherlock moving slowly. However, Sherlock held the kiss but made sure to have a loose hold on John’s arms, which caused the shorter man’s body to relax and he leaned into the kiss. “That feels nice.” He whispered. “Can I ask you to do me a favour?” John asked quietly as Sherlock pulled away from kissing his forehead.

“Anything, John.” Sherlock replied.

John frowned, “I… I don’t sleep anymore because I do not feel comfortable. Would… Would you mind maybe just playing on your laptop upstairs while I sleep?” He asked embarrassingly.

Without hesitation Sherlock moved in a flurry grabbing his bag, he did not realize this would freak John out. John jumped back, stumbled and nearly fell into the chair beside them, but Sherlock grabbed him and steadied him, “Sorry. Post-traumatic Stress Disorder… I need to remind myself to move slower around you for a while.” He kissed John’s forehead again and instantly he felt John relax under the kiss and gently touch. “I also ask one favor, can you nap in my room. Mycroft said you have been sleeping in my room. Could you nap there, I would like to lay on my bed, if you are comfortable with that.” Sherlock asked and John gave a look, “I have a comfortable chair in there for a reason.” He smiled gently at John.


	3. CHAPTER Three: New Routines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John lay in bed talking. Lestrade visits causing John to have an attack.

CHAPTER Three: New Routines

Sherlock had done what John asked, stay beside him and protect him while he slept. John had gone for his nap at 10:17 in the morning, by 11:03 P.M Sherlock saw the alarm clock on his bedside table before his eyes fluttered shut and he fell asleep. 

It was almost noon when John woke up to see Sherlock sitting in the old black leather recliner that Sherlock kept in his room. Sherlock had the foot rest pulled out, but his feet still rested on the bed as he was too tall for the chair. John smiled at Sherlock, the man looked so peaceful sleeping, and he knew this was the only time Sherlock was not thinking at a mile a minute. The long curly locks on Sherlock’s head was half covering his face. It was apparent that Sherlock needed to visit the barber. 

When John looked up at the clock a strange twist happened in his heart. He leaned back taking a deep breath letting himself relax. By half past noon it still had not gone away, he knew what it was. He reached out and gently pushed on Sherlock’s leg, “Sherlock, wake up.” He said gently, but Sherlock did not even stir a little bit, “Sherlock, please wake up.” He said in a firmer voice, but it did not work. John finally pulled out his Captain John Watson voice, “Sherlock Holmes, wake up!” His voice was louder, confident, and it made Sherlock jump to his feet; his laptop clattering to the ground.

Sherlock looked around for his gear, “Are we under attack?” He asked. Then his surroundings kicked in, “John?” He let out long breath, “I thought I was underground in Japan again.” He said pulling the recliner foot rest handle and sat into the chair.

The other man raised an eyebrow, “I want to hear everything and anything you went through when you were gone.” As he said this he slid over to make room then patted the bed, “Can… can you lay beside be? I want to see if I can handle it.” He said shyly.

Sherlock nodded with a half-smile. He put his laptop in the seat he got out of and slowly, very slowly crawled into the bed beside John and laid back on the pillow. Sherlock felt his heart beating as fast as if he was running down the road. His hands shook slightly, it was a feeling he never felt before.

John’s heart no longer had a twisting feeling, and as it raced he knew it was different from being scared and it racing. John pushed Sherlock’s shoulder right down onto the pillow and he moved closer and laid his head over the taller man’s heart, “I can put a shirt on John, I must have been really hot last night.” John was shirtless as well but John shook his head.

“I want to feel your skin. Hold me, please, with one arm.” Sherlock nodded. John was on his left side, so he brought his right arm up and laced his fingers with the one John had on his stomach. Sherlock did not register John’s other hand holding the sheet up to his shoulder with a death grip.

Sherlock looked down at him as John looked up, “Are you okay? Is this alright?” He asked soothingly.

John nodded, “It feels amazing.” He made a content sound, “Even your hand caressing my back feels night.” He added. Sherlock stopped, “Sorry!”

John looked at him and shook his head, “No, it is definitely fine. Like I said, it feels nice.” He leaned up and kissed Sherlock’s cheek. When he pulled back he started speaking again, “I have not had human contact in six months. Well, Mycroft gave me a very awkward hug when they brought me back here after I was discharged from the hospital. It was… it was weird, but at the same time comforting… probably why I never talked to him again, I did not want to be comforted by anyone.” He explained this and was relieved when Sherlock laughed at the Mycroft part.

“Mycroft is worse with human emotions than I am, it nearly short circuits him.” He gently ran his hand on the middle of John’s back and John moved closer into Sherlock’s chest, “Is that okay?” He quickly questioned.

John half smiled in response, “More than okay. I like it. You touching me… It doesn’t make me feel jumpy or bring on flashbacks, it is nice to know I can touch you. I was scared I would never be able to touch another person again. I would be okay with only being able to touch you for the rest of my life.” 

Sherlock smiled, “We will take the touching slow, make sure every movement you are comfortable with. They say it is one day at a time, we will take it one movement at a time.” He smiled.

John chuckled at this, “I like that, which will work.”

Sherlock went a little stiff now, “Can I ask you something?”

From the tone in Sherlock’s voice John knew Sherlock’s brain was back to working a mile a minute, “Depends, what do you want to know?”

“Wh…” He almost did not want to ask John, “What did she do to you?” He pushed the sentence out, he needed to know so he could figure out how to help him.

John’s body, head to toes, went completely tense. Sherlock caresses his back and gently kissed the top of John’s head, “She did everything imaginable to me.” He whispered, “The first day… The… the first day…” He stuttered, “The first day she had me drugged most of the day. I blacked out and faded back in all through the day and she was always there…” He nearly choked on the next words, “Riding me.” Tears slide down his face. John moved so he was laying on his side facing Sherlock, and moved the taller man’s arm over his hip, and Sherlock let him. John curled closer to Sherlock, though he kept the sheet still over himself, and continued, “I had to get all these STI and STD checks. I got a clean bill of health last month, except for the anxiety and panic disorders I now have. My therapist used to come up to the apartment when I called, I stopped calling last month.” Sherlock could tell John needed to tell someone outside his therapist all of this. “Sherlock… She hurt me badly. I have more than invisible scares… I have… I have scars all over my body now.” More tears slide down his face, “I am… I am broken and scared.” He whispered.

Sherlock looked at him alarmed, “What? How could you ever think you are broken?” He asked him.

John moved out of Sherlock’s arms and pulled the sheet down. From his left shoulder down to between his breast blades down to his right hipbone. Sherlock was both shocked at the scar and worried about John’s weight.

“You are by far not broken. But when you are ready, we will start working out together. I have lost the weight and you have gained it. You need to eat right, John. I do not want to scold you, but I don’t want anything to ever happen to you.” Sherlock said.

John nodded, “As long as we do it together,” He agreed.

Sherlock nodded, “I promise you it will be together.”

John curled back into Sherlock and neither said anything for a while. Their breathing synced up together. John gently ran his hand through Sherlock’s hair, while Sherlock gently caresses John’s back. As the time pasted from half past noon to a quarter to two both men moved closer and closer together until there was no space between their bodies. The tips of their noses were touching, their breaths going into each other’s faces. Neither wanted to move even through both of their stomachs were growling. 

Finally John spoke first, “She… She taped the whole thing.” His voice was barely audible. 

Sherlock almost missed what John said, “Did… Did you watch it?” He asked quietly.

There was a nod, “Only one part.” He said, “I needed to see how my body got scared so badly, how my torso is forever scared. Sherlock…” He voice broke, “I watched it and I can’t remember it. I watch it and it was like I was watching someone else being tortured.” He cried, his body shaking. A dam broke inside of him. His body wrecked with sobs as Sherlock pulled him tightly against him. John did not feel like he was being confined, he felt like he was being protected while he was vulnerable. Sherlock’s arms were like a wall of protection and it allowed John to let every emotion out of him. 

Sherlock held his partner, he held him close and did not want to let go of him. As John cried Sherlock felt himself become more protective. Slowly, after another half hour of John crying it subsided into sniffles and hiccups. “Let me make you food, John. Let we can set a fire and relax. Let us be normal tonight.” He said quietly.

“I would love that.” He said.

Sherlock quickly showered while John said he was too relaxed to move. When he got back John was coming back toward the bathroom with clothing. Sherlock stepped out in a simple white V-neck shirt and jeans, “Jeans? Seriously, Sherlock?” John laughed, a true, old fashioned John laugh.

Sherlock look down at his pants, “What? Did I put them on wrong?” He asked, unamused.

John was now wrecked with laughter, “I don’t know, it is just funny. I have never seen you in jeans.” His laughter died down to chuckles and Sherlock gently kissed his forehead.

“You are a meany head.” He said like a five year old.

John raised an eyebrow and laughed again, “Meany head? Are you two?”

Sherlock gave a pout look, “Two and half.” He cracked a smile kissed John’s forehead again.

John laughed and walked into the bathroom. Sherlock walked into the kitchen and started making John’s favourite, chicken stir-fry. At least, he was going to, but as he walked to the cabinets he found that there was no food anywhere. Sherlock felt a squeeze around his heart, he doubted John had even ate anything in two weeks, nothing more than water at the very least. 

Sherlock grabbed the phone and called their Chinese restaurant. Of course the person was shocked to hear Sherlock’s voice. Once the order was placed Sherlock started the fire and found a movie John liked, the first Fast and the Furious movie, and started cleaning up the mess from Sherlock stopping John from shooting himself. Sherlock hide the gun, and the bullets in the skull before opening the window a little bit, and grabbing a throw blanket. 

John walked out as Sherlock was paying for the food. As he sat the stuff down at the table sirens could be heard coming from down the street. They continued platting their food when they heard someone taking the steps two at a time. Sherlock could tell by the footsteps it was Lestrade, but John did not. 

John stumbled away from the door, his body shaking. The footsteps triggered something in his memory. John’s breathing became heavy as Lestrade came into the room with his gun drawn. Sherlock glared at him but turned just as John’s body twisted slightly and collapsed toward the floor. Sherlock caught him before his head hit the floor.

“Lestrade!” Sherlock bellowed after checking to see if John fainted or actually went unconscious. Lestrade help Sherlock move John to the couch, then the cop went to the freezer and grabbed an ice pack, the only thing in the freezer. He wrapped it in a tea towel and handed it to Sherlock. Once John had it on his head Sherlock rounded on Lestrade.

Greg threw his arms in the air then dropped them, “I thought someone had decided to break in. We have been watching this place for months because John had been so out of it. 

There was a commotion last night but when we checked John was in your room sleeping.” He explained quickly, then the niceness faded away. “Do you MIND telling me how you are alive?” Lestrade snapped. 

Sherlock sat on the floor near John and removed the ice pack so his head would not get to cold. “I had to fake my death.” He said. When he looked up he could tell it was not enough. Sherlock launched into the same thing he told John. Lestrade’s face softened.

“You were protecting us.” He said.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, “I said that, didn’t I?” Raised an eyebrow.

Lestrade frowned, “Still the same old Sherlock.” The line made Lestrade smile to himself. “How is he? I filed the police report about his… I know you know, since you know everything.” Greg sat down on the coffee table. He had waved his men off when they were carrying John past the door, it was only them. “And why did I not see you last night when I came in?” He added on.

Sherlock frowned, “One question at a time, Lestrade, I will answer them all.” Sherlock checked John and put the ice pack back on his head. “Last night I went down to see Mrs. Hudson, told her my story and that I would not be leaving again and she no longer had to worry about John.” He explained. “As for John… He is suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder. It is bad. He will need to start seeing his therapist again. We will start jogging together. John needs to have the resemblance of a life again. Nobody pushed him, nobody made him get help when he came back so… torn.” Sherlock wrung his hands together. 

Lestrade reached out and put his hands on Sherlock’s, “We tried, all of us. For three months we tried. He just shut everyone out. He locked the doors, closed the curtains. 

Mrs. Hudson would inform us that he was alive, she would hear the toilet flush, or him moving from his room to the living room, eventually from the living room to your room.” He explained this quietly, he had taken his hand away from Sherlock’s, “Every day we would come to the door. I was here the day before last. I was going to come last night but Mycroft said he had been by.” Lestrade explained. 

There was a weight lifted off the youngest Holmes chest, “Thank you. Thank you for trying to be here for him when I had abandoned him.” Sherlock frowned.

Lestrade shook his head, “You faking your death saved three lives. Do not think for a moment that any of this is your fault. Sure, John got hurt in Afghanistan again, but he would be dead right now if you had not faked your death. We are here because of you. John will heal. He already looks less pale now that your back.” Lestrade smiled encouragingly at Sherlock.

Sherlock generally did not need encouraging, but he was out of his element completely. He needed his friends as well. “I need you to spread the word to everyone who was helping that I am back and I ask that people stay away for a week or so. I will have you all introduced back into his life slowly, not all at once, that will freak him out. Once he is used to the old group, Mrs. Hudson, Mycroft, Molly, you. I will have a dinner to have everyone else introduced to him again. This will be taken slow, Lestrade.” He warned his friend.

Lestrade nodded, “I get it, small steps. A day at a time.”

Sherlock shook his head, his old ‘you are wrong’ look on his face, “No, we are going to take it slower than that. Moments, Lestrade, we are going to take it moments at a time. Every day is built of five moments. Getting up, having breakfast, following through on ones plans for the day, going home, then going to bed. All these are what he has to get used to again. Moments before days, then weeks before months.” Sherlock said this quietly. 

Lestrade nodded, “I will send the word.” He started getting up as John stirred.

All John saw was a figure move near him, he jerked back and screamed, “NO PLEASE!”

Sherlock turned and was on his knees in front of John in less than a second flat, “Shh, John, it is okay, it is just Lestrade. He was just checking to see if you were safe. You’re safe, John, you are okay.”

John looked at Sherlock, his eyes were wide with fright and his hands were shaking, “Les… Lestrade?” He looked up and saw the face of his friend. The tanned line of the Detective-Inspector Lestrade was a familiar and welcomed sight in John’s book, “Hi.” He looked back at Sherlock, “What happened?”

Sherlock started to speak, “Lestrade thought someone broke in. He came to check on you and you fell unconscious.” Every word Sherlock spoke was with gentle ease, “I hear your friends have been checking on you.” Sherlock smiled.

John looked up at Lestrade, “Thank you, Greg.” John said, he was still tense.

Greg looked at them, then to John, he was shocked how quickly John relaxed with Sherlock there, “You’re my friend John, I will always be here for you, if you let me.” He took Sherlock’s example and spoke gently.

The shorter man of the group nodded, “I know, and I am sorry I shut myself away. I promise if you give me time, that won’t happen anymore.” John promised with his hand over his heart.

Lestrade smiled, “I know. You really do have a best friend in Sherlock.” He said.

Both John and Sherlock shook their heads together, Sherlock spoke first, “Actually, we are not just best friends.” He said.

Lestrade kept his laugh quiet, “Anderson owes me fifty pounds.”

Sherlock and John looked at him in unison, “What?” They said.

“Well, the first night we met John, the Lady in Pink case. Well, Sherlock looked at you, the way he did was different. I had never seen him look at anyone like that before. I wondered if maybe Sherlock saw how much alike you both were. Though, over time it became obvious that you both balanced each other. He pushed your knowledge, and you pushed his humanity. It balanced you both.” He looked between them and shrugged, “John, lean on Sherlock, he will help you, he loves you after all. Sherlock let him love you.” He told them then smiled. He walked to the door, “Let me know when you are ready to get a pint.” He dipped his head in goodbye and closed the door on the way out.

John and Sherlock looked at each other and chuckled together, “I love you, Sherlock.” John said.

Sherlock kissed John’s forehead gently, “I love you, as well, John.” 

They got up and did exactly as they had planned, they had dinner, sat in front of the fire watching the telly until they both were falling asleep on the floor so they went into Sherlock’s bedroom. They changed and Sherlock went to crawl into the recliner but John stopped him by pulling him into the bed. Sherlock slept closest to the door and John slept on Sherlock’s chest all night, and Sherlock slept with his lips a breath away from John’s forehead.

For the first month this was their new routine. John would wake up, then Sherlock would wake. They would talk about their lives over the three years they were away from each other. They would even talk about the hard parts. John would cry, and Sherlock would clear the tears away. They would then have breakfast, work out, have lunch, Lestrade would send them cold case files and they would work through them together, then they would make dinner, watch telly then they would both go to Sherlock’s room after locking up. Every night Sherlock went for the recliner, not going to his own bed until John invited him. Their routine did not falter. Every single day was the same. 

When April turned to May Sherlock realized John was no longer using his cane again. They had dinner now with Mrs. Hudson every night and they had different visitors for dinner every few nights during the week. Sometimes Molly would join them, or Mycroft, or Lestrade. Once they had all them. Sherlock noticed Lestrade and his brother getting a lot very well, and it made him smile.

When May turned to June and June melted through July into August John was more like his old self. John had, on his own, started seeing his therapist again. At first this was at the apartment, and of course, Sherlock was only a room away. However, time moved on and John found he was comfortable with cabbing to the therapist office and back. This turned into having dinner out with Mrs. Hudson, and that turned into dinner out once a week with everyone. Each new moment was added slowly into a bigger moment.

Finally, when September game, John walked into the living room, “I think I want to return back to doing cases outside the house, maybe get a job doing clinical work again.” John said walking over and kissing Sherlock on the lips. This also became the norm. They had some pretty intense snogging sessions, and deep down John knew he was getting closer to being intimate with Sherlock.

Sherlock was not shocked by John’s words, “Only if you are absolutely sure, love.” He said smiling at his partner. 

“I am sure. You have… you have changed my life Sherlock. I never thought I would feel safe enough to have a regular life again and you changed that. You took every single day a moment at a time like you promised and I feel… I feel like myself again.” He leaned down and kissed his partner again, “I want a life, I want to be able to be happy.” He stated.

“As long as I am always a part of it.” Sherlock teased.

John chuckled, “I could never picture my life without you.”

They kissed again, and went back to working on the cold case file that was laying on the coffee table.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Attacks for PTSD can be over anything and everything. How one experiences it can be different. For me it is sudden-ness. If someone stormed into my house I would have an attack. 
> 
> I hope everyone is enjoying this story.


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